I liked someone’s Puja post on Facebook, even after hating it from the bottom of my heart. I hate that they can still spend Durga Puja with their friends, I hate the fact that their schedule is perfectly aligned to revisit the old spots, and I absolutely can’t tolerate their candid pictures in those colourful outfits.

I wish they were more like me, sleeping till noon during Durga Puja, missing Anjali while searching for old Puja posts in the Insta archive. Yes, you are right, I am jealous! I miss my friend, who left the country and is figuring out life in a different time zone.

I wish I could kidnap Professor Anthony Gonsalves from the movie Action Replayy and trade my whole Puja closet for a single ride on that time machine. I once again want to admit my defeat against climate change, which has made October feel like summer, and drink Pepsi in gallons while arguing with my folks about which Puja pandal we should visit next or which restaurant would be honoured to serve us for a post-pandal-hopping dinner. However, my unfortunate adult self is forced to witness others doing everything that I once felt was normal and permanent.

It took me more than one Durga Puja to realise that finding a companion who will question your every choice in fashion, food, and rides is rarer than a Durga mandap without any naru. You may occasionally find a mandap without a naru, but the possibility of finding a friend who will decline every Puja hangout because you are not in town is one in a million.

The morning I was alone at a Puja mandap waiting for my Ma to finish her little social interaction with a few neighbouring aunties, I saw two girls in matching sarees. They both were wearing white sarees with some red-coloured details. One of the girls had golden earrings similar to those of my friend Riya, who was probably busy attending her afternoon class, hours ahead of me.

Did she ever imagine that instead of crying over the bad pronunciation of the Purohit Moshai during Anjali, she would have to brainstorm ideas for her professor in a dull classroom? Did I ever imagine myself standing alone at a pandal? I guess I should have! But it would not have made any revolutionary changes. If it were not her, then I would still happily stand alone at those chaotic, sweaty, and colourful mandaps, sulking over those prettily dressed girls and their continuous giggling.

Perhaps in a few Octobers, I will find someone who will argue with me over every little thing. But trust me, this melancholic heart will forever cherish the moments I spent with my old and forever people. Sometimes, spending a festival alone is needed to hold onto all those foolish yet heartwarming memories.